


I am the egg man

by IanMuyrray



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Crack Fic, F/M, Fluff and Smut, bree does drugs, goo goo g'joob, its the 1960's, mildly nsfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 01:39:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14462319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IanMuyrray/pseuds/IanMuyrray
Summary: Brianna meets Roger on an acid trip when he’s playing sitar for a terrible Beatles cover band





	I am the egg man

The inside of the large warehouse Bree was in was bathed in alternating rainbow lights. There was no black, no white, only bright color. Sound felt exquisite; could she touch it with her fingers? An oversized dress fluttered across her thighs as headiness circulated through the air.  

Movement by the others surrounding her flickered, blurred, buffered, and stuttered as she pushed her way to the stage. Music twisted, scurried, distorted, and floated around her. She pushed too-wide sleeves up past her elbow to better grip the barrier between the crowd and musicians, distractedly noting that her dress looked black and brown as it reflected the brilliant lighting. Then Bree’s eyes, with pupils as wide as craters, focused, blurred, and focused again on the bearded man onstage, the one wearing blue octangular lenses.

Then she was in a room. She knew it was nearly black inside but only saw vivid colors where there was heat: orange, blue, green, red, yellow. She reached for the solid rainbow he formed as the sitarist closed the door with a backwards kick, music thundering through the paper-thin walls. “I’m Roger,” he managed pant between kisses and bites. She could care less as she watched her hands send ripples of blazing crimson and persimmon across his figure, her skin pulsating with the sensation of sound.

Their mouths fused together—she shoved his vest down his shoulders and yanked ferociously at his belt and fly—he unbuttoned the top of her dress—emitted a groan of frustration when thwarted by her knotted sash—returned to paw at her breasts—she was pressed between his body and the wall— his knee between her legs—he was warm and soft and alluring—her hands mussed his hair, gripped his shoulders, fluttered down to his arms—then he was rough and coarse, lifting her—whipped the skirt up above her waist—large hands spread across her buttocks, causing her to shudder within a blossoming color spectrum—her legs wrapped around his waist and she pivoted her hips with insistence—he made his decision, cried out—she gasped and melted—bit his neck, tooth marks flowering into bluish-green coils— and hummed,  _“I am the egg man.”_


End file.
